There are a lot of things that happen in an educational setting today that didn’t happen when I was in high school. No surprise there — I’m a solidly middle-aged guy, so you’d expect that things would have changed in some way, shape, or form.
One change that has become an everyday buzzword in schools is a thing called “Bell Work.”
Practically, there’s nothing really new or groundbreaking about the idea of Bell Work; it’s just an activity or assignment that students are supposed to work on right as the bell is ringing at the start of class. The goal is to more efficiently utilize class time by having students do something immediately when they enter the room. (Because, presumably, students were doing nothing before.)
I’m guessing Bell Work became a thing because some administrator somewhere wanted to make it look like they were “improving” student and teacher performance at their school or district by shaving off those wasted minutes of class during which those same teachers and students were saying hello to each other and/or making small talk.
Anywho. There are a variety of bell work activities that I have students do throughout the year, but right now we’re doing a new kind of bell work that I’m calling “The Fight Bracket.”
Basically, I created a tournament bracket of 16 fictional characters that are going to square off in battle to discover who, ultimately, is the strongest fictional character of all. At the end of class, I give students a QR code to a Google Form that asks, “Who would win in a fight, X or Y?” and has the day’s two contestants as options. Whoever gets the most votes is crowned victorious and moves on to the next round.
The next day, I share the results and give out the next “Battle.”
ChatGPT made this. Sue me.
What does all of this have to do with English? Not a damned thing! It’s just entertaining to talk about.
No offense to the admin who thought up “Bell Work” as a way to show their boss that they were making schools better by cutting out all that “wasted class time,” but I’m going to spend a little bit of each day just doing fun stuff.
As Kurt Vonnegut said,
“I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don’t let anybody tell you different.”
I downloaded a little book called The Trauma of Burnout by Dr. Claire Plumbly the other day, hoping (as I always do)to find more information about why I’m having trouble sleeping. And, hopefully, to find ways to improve the situation.
Am I actually burnt out? I don’t know. Being burnt out is more of a spectrum than it is a binary condition (“syndrome,” technically), so I suppose most people who’ve been teaching for a while are. Both mentally and physically, teaching is a tough gig. If you want to see how tough it is, take a little trip over to r/teaching on Reddit and see the horror stories that get posted there on a daily basis.
Plumbly’s book reads like she’s been following me around taking notes about how my day is going, which should make me upset but actually makes me a little relieved. It’s just nice to have a clearer idea of why I feel so crummy and to have some practical steps I can take to fix the issues.
For example, this morning, one of the first things I did after waking up was splash a bunch of cold water on my face, which apparently has some physiological benefits. Did it feel great? No. But my morning did go a little smoother than usual, so that’s a win.
I’ve never been huge on self-help books, but at this point I’ll take advice from anywhere I can get it.
At the end of last semester — just before winter break — a troublesome student of mine handed in his final assignment and told me, “I’d better pass this class. Otherwise, I’m coming for you.”
I didn’t feel particularly threatened by it. This student talks a lot, but they’ve never been violent, so I didn’t think there was any substance to what they’d said. However, you don’t get to threaten people.
So, I took the student into the hallway and explained it to them. “You can’t talk to teachers — or anybody, I guess — like you just did. Making threats like that is very serious.” I sent the student to his admin and wrote them up.
All of this happened literally 15 minutes before school got out for winter break.
I took some time before leaving for the day to speak to administration about it; I wasn’t sure what the protocol was for threats, so I wanted to cover my bases and make sure I’d informed everyone who needed to be informed. Admin told me not to worry — that particular student was being moved out of my class. So, I thought, problem solved. Hopefully the student will be put someplace where they can find success.
Except, of course, that wasn’t the end of it. That student simply got moved from one class of mine to another class of mine. So, I’m still teaching them, but at a different time of day.
(Thanks for the help, admin! Shuffling students around like troublesome Catholic priests is sure to solve this issue.)
Yesterday, this student got in some more trouble. They were late for class without a pass, lied about where they’d been, lied about talking to an admin when told to get a tardy slip, lied about having their phone, lied about using their phone while they were supposed to be reading, and refused to stop using their phone multiple times. All of this was within the first 10 minutes of class.
I called for security to get an escort to take this student to the administration office. The student said, “I don’t need an escort. I can walk to the admin office by myself.”
I said, “I’d like to believe you, but you’ve lied pretty consistently today and you have been caught walking the halls several times this week. We’ll just wait for an escort to make sure you get where you need to be.”
Only no escort showed up. We waited for over an hour, but … nothing. The student just sat at his desk. I carried on with the lesson and emailed admin to ask what to do in this situation but heard nothing in response before the end of class.
It is incrediblydisheartening. I’m not mad at the student, just as I’m not mad at admin for keeping this student in my class, just as I’m not mad about no security escort showing up.
The cold, hard truth of it is that security was probably busy with other problems and didn’t have time to send an escort. Admin probably kept the student in my class because there was no other choice with scheduling — every student takes English and there are only so many English classes. And this student has problems of their own — I’m sure their propensity for lying is learned behavior that has helped the student in the past. They need more help; they need a classroom with fewer students and a different structure.
This is the kind of student who, if I asked them, “Please write your name on this piece of paper,” would fail the task. Not because they can’t write or anything; it’s more likely something along the lines of behavioral defiance. The student opposes anyone in authority “just because.”
I wish I could say I didn’t have other students with the same issue, but it’s actually pretty common.
Who would’ve thought a country like ours would produce so many people with behavioral disorders?
I swear I’m getting dumber and dumber as the days go on. It’s like my brain is turning into a dried up husk.
It’s not that I’m forgetting how to speak or do math(although I feel like I’m a lot slower at both of those things than I was, oh, five years ago) but that I’m feeling a lot more scatter-brained. I am all over the place.
You know that feeling you get when you walk into a room and forget why you’re there? That’s called an event boundary, and it basically happens because your mind starts a new “instance” of itself when you are in a new context. When you’re in the kitchen, kitchen-you can be perfectly aware that kitchen-you needs kitchen-your airpods, but when kitchen-you goes into the bedroom to get them, a whole new you pops up!It’s Bedroom-you, who doesn’t run the same set of processes. Bedroom-you isn’t thinking about how kitchen-you’d like to listen to a podcast while kitchen-you’re cooking; bedroom-you wonders if bedroom-your sweatpants are in the dryer or in the hamper.
Hence, it feels like you “forgot” why you went into the bedroom just because your mind switched modes. Go back to the kitchen and, odds are, you’ll remember what you were after.
It’s like a crappy magic trick! You’re the one with the saw and you’re the one getting cut in half!
I left my kindle at work so I can’t draw pictures
See? I can remember that stuff perfectly well, but I’ll still fall victim to this psychological treachery.
The worst part of it is the way my attention span has been impacted. It’s not that I’ll be sitting and reading a book and then go, “I’m bored. I should do something else.” But I will sit down to read and find myself suddenly standing up to go do something else when I don’t even realize I’m doing it. Only when I’m elbow deep in dirty dishes will I go, “Oh, yeah, I was reading.”
This is just evidence
Anywho. I’m guessing that the problem is related to my sleep, which makes sense, since I just got done blogging about how bad my sleep patterns are.
It’s tough to decide what to do about this. Except, of course, have a cup of tea.
Of my inevitable mental decline
In other news, after a second round of grades put in the gradebook, hey, look at that, the average grades in most classes are normalizing. There aren’t nearly as many failing grades as the administration was worried about. Why? Because a student’s overall performance is no longer tied to one or two data entries.
It’s almost as if freaking out about off-track data during the first few weeks of school was a total waste of time.
I downloaded TikTok a while ago (I’m awfully late to the party; sue me) mostly because I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I’ve found it hard to interact with students on a personal level if I don’t spend some time checking out what they’re into. You’ve got to watch the shows, listen to the music, play the dumb phone games(and, yes, download what is possibly the most insidious app ever devised).
I’m not saying you’ve got to become all about those things — five minutes with Block Blast, I think, is more than enough — but you should spend enough time with them that, when you see little Timmy trying to sneakily make a little square jump over some spikes under his desk, you can know which particular culprit has stolen Timmy’s attention.
Of all the apps that students regularly use, TikTok is far and away the worst. Good lord it is addicting. The more I use it, the more I come to think that it is both reckless and stupid to allow teenagers unrestricted access to apps like TikTok. We’re creating an army of little dopamine mind-slaves. Australia has the right idea in banning that shit.
(Sure, that “mind-slave” bit is an exaggeration — I’m a writer, I exaggerate perpetually — but you’d be hard-pressed to find a single long-term benefit provided by TikTok.)
Sure, but what news is being delivered at laser-fast, fiberoptic speeds? What, exactly, is the content being bounced around satellites and into my little glass rectangle? That’s the problem I have with this whole thing. I ask myself the same question I ask when I watch cable news: “Who decided that I should see this?”
For TikTok (and YouTube and Instagram…), we’ve instead got something people are oddly okay with calling “The Algorithm.”(What the fuck kind of sideways-ass timeline are we in where our “information feeds” are controlled by “The Algorithm” and we’re all like, “Yeah, that’s fine, Imma go to Starbucks.”)
The scary part (well…one of the scary parts) is that nobody, not even the creators, can fully tell you how the goddamned algorithm works. It’s complicated as all hell and tracks so much of your information it is absolutely astounding.
So, basically, we don’t know how or why we’re being fed the stuff we see on these apps. We don’t know if we’re all seeing the same stuff, or if we’re all in little bubbles being spoon-fed what The Algorithm wants us to see. (In some cases we’re being shown different angles of the same event — actually spinning reality in real time, creating different “versions of the truth.”)
I mean. This all sounds a bit like I need to tighten my tin foil hat, but… How many more times this morning do I need to see a guy in Minnesota being murdered? How many more times do I need to zoom in on that shooting with super slo-mo?
And how many times does every teenager in the country need to rewatch it? No, really, what’s a healthy number? What do you think? They say you have to experience something 33 times for it to enter long term memory, which seems a little high to me, so maybe we can start there and work toward a reasonable number? /s
I had to give out so many referrals yesterday. About an order of magnitude above the usual number (which is nothing overboard — maybe a handful a week). It was exhausting and just … terrible. I’m not sure how else to describe it.
We recently learned that a significant portion of the students at my high school are “off track,” or missing the credits they need to graduate because they have failed or are currently failing classes, and admin freaked out about it. They sent out a slew of emails, held lots of meetings, and then sent out more emails about the meetings, which required further administrative communication (in the form of emails about emails about meetings). They didn’t say it directly, but the essential message to teachers was: We’re panicking; we need to do something.
There’s a perfectly rational explanation for this perceived dip in student performance — it’s the start of a quarter and grade books only have one or two grades in them. My classes have only had around 2 graded assignments after these first few weeks, so the students’ entire grade is currently based off of a very small sample. I mean, if a student missed one single assignment so far, they’d technically be failing.
It’s the equivalent of a baseball coach yelling at a batter after missing the first pitch of the year because his batting average was too low.
The grades will normalise after we get a better sample of students’ performance. In two weeks, I’d say, things will be closer to normal, with final quarter grades being the truly accurate measurement.
However, in the meantime, I’ve decided to try to help the problem anyway because, A) What if I’m wrong?Maybe there’s another reason why on-track data has slipped, and B) Why not try some new approaches? iI there’s a chance they help, why not give it a whirl?
I decided to focus on a group of students that are often overlooked and brushed to the side: The Barely-Theres. The ones who are at school, but only barely. Those students who do zero work, who contribute about as much as a cardboard cut-out.
In most classes at our school, there are at least one or two students who, for whatever reason, do absolutely nothing. They sit in the back of the class with their head down, don’t respond to questions, don’t turn in assignments, will ignore nearly every instruction, and are perfectly fine with failing the class. You can ask them, “Hey, is everything okay? I notice you’re not doing this assignment. Would you mind telling me why?” And they will just stare blankly at you and/or maybe shrug. Even hit them with an office referral and there will be no change. Email home? No response.
It’s heartbreaking. But in a class of 35 students I can’t spend 10 minutes trying to get little Tommy to read Abraham Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address when all he’s barely willing to sit up (and even that only sometimes).
This week I decided to spend a little more time with those students. After all, if I can get a few of them to up their performance just a little bit, they’ll be passing, right? It’s good for them, good for admin, good for the school.
Not so “yay” for me, though. It sucks to have to “play the heavy” all day long. I had so many hallway conversations (“I want you to finish this assignment. What can we do to make that happen?”), sent so many emails to admin (“Tommy didn’t come back from lunch–have you seen him?”), wrote so many referrals (“Tommy, after repeated warnings, decided to make a TikTok dance videos in the back of the classroom while he was supposed to be writing a rough draft.”)
I was never mean about it. Just adamant. You will get this work done. I’m sorry, but putting your head down for 90 minutes is not acceptable.
I got a lot of nasty looks, got cussed at, threatened with the ol’, “My mom will hear about this!” gambit. (Which is not at all as frightening as students think it is. Oh, sweetie, I would LOVE to have a chat with your parents. Let’s call them right now!)
On top of having to be confrontational the whole day, I lost instructional time because I had to spend all those extra minutes having hallway convos; doing everything just took a lot longer and I wasn’t able to spend as much time with students who needed more academic help.
By the end of the day I was wiped. Utterly exhausted, both physically and emotionally.
You’ve got to find a balance, but I’m still not sure where that balance is for me. I’m certainly not sure if I can keep this up.
Making lesson plans stresses me out. It always has and I see no reason to assume that it will stop — everyone says you need to spend 5 years at a teaching position before you’re “comfortable” there, so I figure I’ve got years of stress left. And, while I consider this kind of stress to be a “Good Stress” (a B.S. term for stress that produces better results from us working-class drones), I do think it is sometimes detrimental to my health.
It doesn’t help matters that I’m a perfectionist when it comes to planning. “Perfectionist” might not be the right word. I’m a planaheadionist. A person who believes that being well-prepared is one of the best things you can do to improve your classes.
In any classroom, there are a million things you can’t control. You can’t control whether or not Timothy is going to refuse to participate. You can’t control if or when Susan will throw a pencil at Timothy because he keeps whispering at her. You can’t control if you’ll get diarrhoea and you certainly can’t control whether or not 90% of your students haven’t ever heard of Mark Twain.
One of the only things you can control is how well you’ve planned that day’s lesson. Depending on all the other factors, your preparation can make or break the whole day. It’s not a silver bullet, but it is a bullet, and bullets are strong. Wait, what? (Maybe bullet metaphors might not be the best metaphors to fire off in this situation.)
Anywho. If I find myself ill-prepared, I get so anxious about it I’ll make myself physically sick. Not even joking — during my first 1-2 years of teaching at a public school, I’d call in for mental health reasons once or twice a semester. I used to feel guilty about it, but now I think fuck that. I’m going to take as many sick days as I see fit.
It does explain why I get so manic sometimes. I’ve known so many great teachers in my life that doing anything less than my best at this job makes feel like I’m letting everyone down.
That’s why you’ll find me so frequently on a school night mumbling over Amazon.com like some suburban Gollum whispering, “Why shouldn’t I have a PRINTER all my own. Yes, yes! A Brother printer for my desk and maybe one more for my classroom…!”
Not to make myself sound like God’s gift to anything. While I know that preparedness is a key to success, all that amounts to most days is I’m painfully aware of how ill-prepared I am.
It’s early in the spring semester at the high school where I teach, which means it’s time to have meetings about failing students.
What a treat!
This year’s crop of Juniors (to whom I teach English) are securely buckled into the struggle bus with their “on track” numbers (the number of students in the class who are on track to graduate next year) falling wayyyy behind other classes. Something like 1/3 of the students are missing required credits.
It’s not that they won’t graduate. It’s that they’re behind.
This isn’t the school’s fault, it isn’t admin’s fault, and it surely isn’t the fault of the parents or the students or the teachers. These are students who went through all the remote-learning pandemic nonsense right when “socialization” was most necessary — in elementary and middle school. It should come as absolutely no surprise that they are struggling; their view of education has been wrecked by years of shake-ups and the whole crap chute of “remote learning.”
The biggest educational detriment provided by the pandemic was, in my opinion, convincing millions of students that they just didn’t need to be at school. They went through years of remote learning, which is wildly ineffective,but they still passed all their classes. Now it seems like many of them (and their families) are questioning the whole institution of public education.
Fair enough. Question away! I say. But you can’t be surprised that over 1/3 of the class isn’t on track to graduate. And we certainly shouldn’t be having meetings where we point fingers and assign blame. “How do we best support students who aren’t showing up?” is a question that most classroom teachers aren’t equipped to answer, and the solutions are probably things that most classroom teachers can’t implement.
It’s not like we can sneak into Billy’s house and set his alarm for him.
When I look at a list of students who are failing my English classes, the unifying factor between them is they simply aren’t coming to school. And, on the odd day when they do show up, they don’t get enough work completed to receive a passing grade.
Example: Last semester, I had a student submit a total of 2 assignments. 2 assignments out of 25. And she still expected to pass! It came as a shock to her that she didn’t.
“I got a good grade on the final. I thought that would be enough!”
The student definitely could have passed — she’s got tremendous writing skills, speaks well, and I’m sure would be able to analyze a literary text — but she didn’t show any of that in her work. Why? She was only here for a handful of days.
That student isn’t alone. It’s happening a lot with the students in my classes, and it’s happening all over the country. In 2019, pre-pandemic, about 15% of students missed at least 10% of class days. After the pandemic hit, that number doubled, rising to around 30%. It’s been going down, but 23-25% is what’s being projected now (in the ’25-’26 school year).
(It’s normally the Department of Education’s job to keep track of thesestatistics, so it’s a good thing our nincompoop-in-chief shut the whole department downvia executive order. Who wants to help kids stay in school, anyway? Certainly not republicans.)
Is that an over-simplification? Sure it is! There are other obstacles standing in students’ way — hello, cell phones! — but this problem, “Chronic Absenteeism,” is the first thing my school needs to tackle if we want our students to walk across that stage next year.
And, quite honestly, I have no idea what to do about it. Decisions are made by people who show up, but what decisions do you make about the people who are staying home?
I do informal polling with all of my high school students. Just for kicks. I make up little questionnaires with questions like, “Which starter Pokémon would you choose?” or “Which brand of shoe is chopped?” and I give them to classes as an exit ticket. 75 or 100 students (usually) scan a QR code, which takes them to the poll question on Google Forms, and then I turn their answers into little pie charts or bar graphs and share the results with them at the top of each block.
There isn’t much academic benefit to this activity, but it usually spurs discussion and serves as a way of building up the class as a community. Also, it’s just fun. Very often, students will tell me what kind of poll information they’d like to know and I’ll put it out there for them.
Which of the “bender” kingdoms would you join?
Yesterday I discovered that over 33% of my students self-report as “Night Owls,” or people who feel most productive after midnight. (Most students reported they were most productive in the afternoon, which tracks with national averages, but “Night Owls” came in 2nd.)
It’s not surprising. You would not believe the number of students I see everyday who look absolutely drained. And not just during my first block — a lot of students are (understandably) tired at 7:40 AM (when my first class starts). But some of them are tired before lunch. Some are tired after lunch. Some are tired at 3:05 when they scramble for the exits and beat a hasty retreat back home.
You always hear stories about this in education. “Teenagers need more sleep,” or, “These kids play video games and doomscroll social media all night!”
It’s easy to say, “The kids are lazy,” and write it off, but it’s been my experience that those sorts of easy answers are either oversimplifications or are flat-out wrong.
In this case, probably both. Personally, I think younger people are more likely to be night owls just because they’re young. I was a night owl when I was a kid. As I’ve gotten into middle age, though, I’ve started waking up earlier and earlier, until, now, there are days when I wandomly wake up at 3:00 or 4:00.
The question becomes, “How do I help students who are chronically exhausted?” Sure, you can call parents and send home emails. Talk to admin or counselors to see if we can come up with a plan to help students stay awake, but I think a good first step is to, well, relax. Just chill out about the whole thing.
Calling kids lazy and punishing them for being too tired to participate can’t possibly be the best solution, especially if being a “Night Owl” is a natural part of cognitive development.
Other people probably know more about this; I’m years out of any psychological training. Do you think the desire (or drive) to stay up late is a thing that most teens experience?
